


take the lemons and be grateful you got anything

by Princex_N



Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Ableism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apologies, Chronic Pain, Crying, Disability, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, Gen, Insecurity, Invisibility, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-05 09:57:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18826336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princex_N/pseuds/Princex_N
Summary: Joxter is the type to tease to show affection. Snufkin can't quite appreciate it the same way the others do.





	take the lemons and be grateful you got anything

**Author's Note:**

> title is from [this A Softer World](http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=985) comic.

Snufkin isn't entirely sure what to make of the man who is supposed to be his father. 

In his opinion, this uncertainty is warranted. After all, he'd only very recently  _met_ the man, and had rarely even considered the possibility of the man existing at all in the past. Snufkin has never had a father before, and he thinks that he's allowed to have a fair bit of skepticism towards the concept as a whole. 

Particularly when the man in question doesn't always seem to be the  _kindest_.

Although, if it were only that, then perhaps things might have been easier. Snufkin is used to unkind people; he's met a good number of them throughout his years of life and travel, and he knows how to deal with them when he encounters them. 

What Snufkin doesn't know how to deal with are people who are unkind without seeming to  _mean_ to be. 

He's known the Joxter for almost a week now, and after the surreal introductions and awkward beginnings, things had settled into a new sort of routine. Snufkin has been watching these patterns since they had begun, and he'd be hard pressed to not notice the way Joxter seems to appreciate a good deal of teasing when it comes to everyone he speaks to. 

No one else seems to have the same problem Snufkin has with it.

Although, no one else gets teased quite like Snufkin does. 

* * *

When things between he and the Joxter had shifted from the tense discomfort of two people who have no idea how to interact with one another into something more casually tolerable, Snufkin had been relieved. He doesn't exactly know how to have a father, but he'd certainly wanted the man to like him, which isn't something he's entirely used to. (Snufkin enjoys getting along with people, enjoys getting along with the friends he'd made in Moominvalley even more, but he'd never met someone already hoping that they would enjoy his company. He wasn't entirely sure if it was an experience he ever wanted to re-encounter.) 

What he  _hadn't_ appreciated about this transition was the implicit permission Joxter seemed to receive that allows him to poke fun at Snufkin's health.

It began with a seeming impatience. Joxter had invited himself along on Snufkin's forest ventures several times already, but on the first occasion where they had actually  _planned_ to go somewhere together intentionally, the Joxter had made it clear he had no intention of trying to keep up with Snufkin's much slower walking pace. 

Snufkin wasn't entirely sure what to make of it - being left behind so blatantly, watching the man's back disappear through the trees without even a word as to whether he'd be waiting for Snufkin when he finally arrived at the place they'd chosen to go. Snufkin is no stranger to the occurance of being left behind, of course - he'll even encourage the others to go on ahead without him on particularly bad days - but nearly everyone in Moominvalley will at least ask or tell Snufkin that they'll see him up ahead before they go. Outside of Moominvalley, Snufkin very rarely goes  _anywhere_ with anyone else, so it's a nonissue.

Now, he's left feeling uncomfortable - uncertain if this is an unspoken instruction for Snufkin to walk faster, or if he's just been dismissed from thought entirely.

When he does finally catch up to Joxter, the incidence isn't mentioned at all, and Snufkin isn't sure if he should try to address it himself or not. 

After all, if he's the one to bring it up - especially when he's still feeling so mixed up about it - isn't he just guilty of causing a scene?

He chooses to let it go. Decides that his irritation is better left unspoken, and simply hopes that it won't happen again (because he knows that if it  _does_ happen again, then the automatic defense he'll hear is that it wasn't a big enough deal the  _first time_ , so why should it matter now?)

It does happen again, and it doesn't stop there. 

It begins with Snufkin being left behind on walks and grows into a series of increasingly biting comments that leave Snufkin feeling hurt and confused. A throwaway comment about Snufkin's slow pace, a teasing remark about the appearance of his limp, a casual laugh over the way his stretching doesn't appear to be 'good enough'.

Mean enough to hurt Snufkin's feelings, but never quite  _mean enough_ to imply that it was meant to. He can tell by the affectionate lean in Joxter's facial expressions that Snufkin is expected to find these comments funny as well. Maybe they're meant to make Snufkin feel less strange about his differences, maybe they're simply the same brand of friendly teasing that the Joxter directs at  _everyone_ , and  _maybe_ the comments are exactly as biting as they were meant to be. 

But maybe Snufkin is just being too sensitive. 

He's never sure if he should mention it or not. Would the Joxter be apologetic if he knew that his commentary hurt more than it helped? Or would he just remark that Snufkin should grow tougher skin and continue on as he had been? Snufkin doesn't know the man well enough to tell. He doesn't understand why the comments hurt so badly - after all, he's heard worse from meaner people, and he's never been particularly insecure about the appearance of his body's movements. Why is it such a big deal now? He isn't sure. And if this is just how the Joxter  _is_ , then Snufkin doesn't want to be the exception to his affections. He doesn't want to be the one who spoiled the fun by being too thin-skinned.

So, he doesn't say anything at all. He musters up a few choked laughs for the Joxter's benefit, occasionally replies back begging for patience with just enough joking in his voice for the comments to be ignored if they want to be (they usually are), and pushes down his own hurt feelings until he can nearly convince himself that they don't exist at all. 

 _It's fine_ , he tells himself, and he can almost fool himself into thinking he believes it.

* * *

Curled up in his tent, alone, Snufkin wonders if maybe he shouldn't have allowed it to get this far.

He's no stranger to the sight of empty spaces where his paws should be, but he thinks it might be the first time he has ever seen them  _here_.

Since he had first arrived here, Moominvalley has always been the space that allowed Snufkin to exist freely around other people. The place where he had learned to accept and  _expect_ help and understanding. The place he always knew he could return to when the outside world became too abrasive for him to tolerate. 

So where is he supposed to escape to now?

He had noticed the invisibility almost a full week earlier, recognized the low, swooping feeling in his stomach as he'd ruminated over the light "At least  _try_ to keep up" that had been thrown at him over the Joxter's shoulder, and wasn't surprised when he'd glanced down in time to see the gentle fade of his claws disappearing from view. 

The thought of finally speaking up had barely crossed his mind, overtaken by the resignation of needing to find and wear gloves to hide the sight from everyone else.

He's gone up to his elbows now. He wonders how far he'll be willing to ride this out. Wonders how long he'll be able to get away with the carefully constructed ruse that everything is fine.

Wonders how early is too early to consider leaving this year. 

* * *

"Does it bother you at all?" Moomin asks him one afternoon, eyes uncertain as he watches Snufkin stare after the Joxter and Little My, after the former made a comment about 'those walking too slowly'.

Snufkin thinks about what his sleeves and boots have hiding behind their fabric, and about the realization he'd come to the night before - that perhaps all of the comments and jokes are just the Joxter's way of dealing with his disappointment. That maybe he had been as excited as Snufkin had been at the thought of finding his previously unknown family, but had been left bereft as he'd seen the way Snufkin contorted around the pain in his bones.

Musters up a smile for Moomin and tells him, "Not at all." 

* * *

"It  _shouldn't_ bother you this much," he tells himself the next morning, glaring bitterly down at his lacking body as he tries unsuccessfully to massage the pain out of his unseen fingers (he's not entirely certain if the pain has been getting worse than usual, or if he's just finding it harder to deal with lately). "You've heard worse, and you know he doesn't mean it." 

Somehow that doesn't make it any easier. 

* * *

In the end, it's nothing more than routine and absentmindedness that finally reveals Snufkin's carefully kept secret. All it takes is the sound of Moomin's excited voice outside of his tent one morning, casual and familiar, and Snufkin calls to let him in without pausing to think about the fact that he hadn't bothered to pull on his boots or gloves before stretching that morning. 

"Snufkin!" Moomin says, scrambling his way excitedly into the tent. "I had an idea last night! Do you want to-," he cuts himself off with a small, "Oh." 

And Snufkin remembers. 

Remembers that him being only in his pants and undershirt means that his limbs (or visible lack thereof) are out in the open, uncovered for the first time in weeks. Even parts of his clothes are beginning to fade now; he'd been planning on trying to find a way to excuse himself from the valley later this week.

Not that there's any point to it, now.

"Ah, Moomin," he says, and tries not to wince at the weak tone in his voice. "It's..."

Moomin only looks at him sadly. "It has been bothering you," he says. "The jokes." 

The words to deny it are already lined up on Snufkin's tongue, but he knows without trying them that there's no point. It's clear, now, how incapable he is of dealing with some simple teasing. Any attempts at denial or deflection are sure to be shot down, and Moomin isn't exactly the type to just let this sort of thing go (it's one of the things Snufkin loves about him, if only it weren't so inconvenient sometimes).

So, he doesn't try. He sighs, and tries to reign in all of his uncomfortably aching limbs until he's as curled up on himself as his body will allow, and nods.

"I  _know_ that he doesn't mean them," he tries to reassure. "But..." He shrugs helplessly. 

Moomin shuffles a little closer, staring earnestly into Snufkin's face. "He doesn't have to  _mean_ them for them to hurt you," he says, so matter-of-fact that Snufkin could nearly believe it.

Moomin reaches forwards, and then halts - waiting for permission instead - and Snufkin manages to laugh weakly before placing his paw into Moomin's waiting ones. When Moomin starts to gently massage the swollen joints, Snufkin would swear that it helps more than anything else he's been trying for the past few weeks. 

"Do you want to talk to him on your own?" 

If Snufkin is being perfectly honest, he doesn't want to talk to him at all. Clearly, his preferred method of dealing with the issue had been to pretend that it wasn't one at all, long enough for nearly all of him to disappear. If he had paused to think before letting Moomin in, it would continue to be how he was dealing with it, up until he had an opportunity to leave entirely. 

Snufkin doesn't say any of this aloud, but Moomin seems to pick up on it anyway. "I can help you," he says simply, the pads of his paws unerringly finding all of the sore spots in Snufkin's wrists, as if it's no trouble to find them, even without being able to see them. "He doesn't seem very mean; I bet he'll apologize. But," he adds, looking back up to meet Snufkin's eyes, "if he doesn't, then we'll just make him leave." 

"He's Moominpappa's friend," Snufkin protests, voice strained around the knot in his throat. "And he's been getting along fine with everyone else." 

Moomin just  _looks_ at him. "You're more important to us than any of that," he says, and this time, Snufkin doesn't try to fight the tears that have been threatening to fall since all of the teasing began.

* * *

Later, once Snufkin has calmed down and cleaned himself up (once Moomin has  _also_ cleaned up the damp patches Snufkin left on his fur), they go together to find the Joxter. 

The scrape and shuffle of Snufkin's boots against the gravel do little to delay their notice, and this gives Joxter plenty of time to spin up a joke while he waits for them to get closer. 

"Hope you boys haven't been walking long," he calls, grinning widely. "I tried not to go too far, but with my son, you never know what distance is too much!" 

Snufkin finds himself shrinking instinctively at the words, but the soft pressure of Moomin against his side stops him from trying to scrape together a laugh. His paw tightens convulsively around Moomin's before the ache in his joints forces him to loosen his grip again. 

"Well, we wanted to talk to you about that," Moomin says for him, and doesn't rush as he pulls Snufkin the last few steps to where the Joxter is sitting. "The jokes, I mean."

The conversation hasn't even started yet and Snufkin is already feeling overwhelmed. He uses his free hand to tug down on the brim of his hat so that it covers his eyes, but not quickly enough to miss how the Joxter's gaze zeroes in on the movement, and stays there.

Because Snufkin isn't wearing his gloves anymore.

He's too flustered to look very long, but the image of Joxter's upset expression lingers even after Snufkin has looked away.

"Did I..." Joxter doesn't finish the sentence, and Snufkin glances over at Moomin to check and see if perhaps he's imagining the horrified tone in his father's voice. Judging by the reassuring smile Moomin gives him, he might not be. "Surely you know I didn't  _mean_ any of it." 

"I know," Snufkin says, perhaps a little defensively. He shuffles his feet uncertainly, and finally looks up to find the Joxter standing much closer than he had been moments before, an uncharacteristically earnest expression on his face. "But, just because  _you_ were only joking doesn't mean that other people were." 

The Joxter winces a bit at that, and seems appropriately cowed. "It was never my intention to hurt you," he says. He seems uncomfortable with the notion of apologizing, but to his credit, he pushes through it. "I'm truly sorry." 

Snufkin almost expects a joke to be tacked onto the end of the apology, but there isn't one. He nods gratefully, "Thank you," he says, and then smiles to try and relieve some of the tension himself. "I suppose I could have said something sooner." 

"You shouldn't have had to," the Joxter replies. "But I'm glad that you did." 

Moomin squeezes his paw, and Snufkin squeezes back. 

He's glad too. 

**Author's Note:**

> Real Family Angst Hours; but i'll be back to my usual brand of fluff soon! 
> 
> [my tumblr](http://www.princex-n.tumblr.com)


End file.
